Black and White Keys
by real roguee
Summary: <html><head></head>James Potter has played the piano since he was seven years old. But when his mother passes away and James goes to Hogwarts, will he find the strength to finish his song, his last song to her? Oneshot. T for brief language.</html>


**Black and White Keys**

**By: Classy**

**Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear I do not own Harry Potter. Or Mozart.

The year his mother died was the year James Potter started to take piano lessons. He had been born relatively late in his parent's lives, and though they despised the "pureblood hierarchy" nonsense, his mother had always been a firm believer in a formal musical education, a good hobby for a young aristocrat. Though James thought being an aristocrat was utter rubbish and he'd rather spend his time playing Quidditch, by the time he turned seven a grand piano sat in the foyer and the prospect of lessons loomed unbearably close.

His instructor was a tall bald man whose droning voice filled the foyer every Monday and Wednesday afternoon. Painstakingly, James would go over his scales, often scolded for his "improper wrist placement" or "atrocious posture." After every lesson, he'd demonstrate his talents to his mother. She was always enthusiastic about his lessons, even when he could only stumble through "Chopsticks." Over the weeks, James's musical talents began to shine through and he quickly made his way up through more complex pieces. Over the weeks, James's detest for the piano grew greater.

Then, at the beginning of January, disaster struck the household. Mrs. Potter was diagnosed with a rare and incurable form of Dragon Pox. Through her sickness, she still managed to listen to James's afternoon concerts. The last time he played for her, it was Mozart. It was a short simple excerpt, and he managed to botch it halfway through. He banged his hands down heavily on the keys.

"Bloody piano! Can't you see I hate it?"

"No, you don't." Mrs. Potter rasped from her comfortable perch on the sofa. She looked so frail and small underneath all those blankets, nothing like the lively young woman she used to be. When James saw her face, marred with worry lines, he calmed.

"I, I am sorry Mother. I'm just frustrated." He hung his head and pouted as only a seven-year-old boy can do and she smiled at his childish actions.

"Come here, James." He walked obediently to her and she smiled at him with absolute adoration. "I love you. What if you're finished with your concert for today? Promise me you'll practice the Mozart? Go play outside, I'm in want of a nap." He grinned and rushed from the room, to his broom and the great outdoors. Before he closed the door, he turned and smiled impishly at his mother before disappearing around the doorway.

It was the last time he'd see her alive.

In her will, she left him one message: _Someday, somehow, I'll hear you play that Mozart piece, James. I'm so proud of you, my dear son._

James lay spread-eagle on his four-poster bed, completely exhausted. Exams were right around the corner and the professors had decided to heap the first-years with even more useless assignments than usual. James didn't even know how he was going to write two feet on the properties of dragon blood or learn the wrist movement for three new charms before lessons tomorrow, let alone study for exams. And if he was ever going to make it onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he'd have to practice. He hadn't been on his broom since Easter. To make matters worse, he had absolutely no one to study or practice with. Remus's mum was ill yet again, and Remus had been gone since this morning. He'd left at dawn, his face pinched and pale, as if he was the sick one. That same morning, coincidently, Sirius had received a letter from his mother at home. After reading the letter, he had stood up abruptly, and muttered something about borrowing the cloak, before rushing from the Great Hall, leaving his ketchup-slathered hash browns untouched. Sirius had skived off classes the rest of the day and James reckoned he was skulking up in the Astronomy Tower. Peter, thank god, had attended all his classes today, but this was the night he had tutoring with that pretty Ravenclaw second-year…was her name Marietta?

Despite all his troubles, all James found himself doing was laying in his bed, tapping his fingers against his trousers. His left hand tapped out a pattern he recognized. Chords. A melody. The damned Mozart piece.

Even at Hogwarts, miles away from his father's haunted face, the visits to the cemetery, the dust-covered ebony piano, James found himself thinking of his mother. He closed his tired eyes and saw her. Her amused smile as he gulped down his supper, her laugh when he showed off on his broom, and, of course, her frail form as she observed him at the piano. Her last note to him…

James swallowed hard and sat up. The memories of her came in painful flashes sometimes. He pealed himself off the bed, and headed toward the common room. His fingers itched to play.

Down in the common room, it was general pandemonium. Two six years were sucking face in one of James's favorite armchairs, Alice Prewett was quizzing Lily Evans on Transfiguration, and someone had unleashed Zonko's finest on a group of rather giggly girls. James slipped out into the hallway, unnoticed by Gryffindor's prefects or busybodies, who would have certainly alerted him it was past curfew.

He didn't know exactly where he was headed. He just needed to walk, letting the melodies and memories wash over him. James knew there was a rickety old piano somewhere in Ravenclaw tower, but he was too tired and frustrated to do something relatively proactive.

He stumbled up against the blank wall, mentally spent. It was a small miracle he hadn't been discovered out of bed (especially without his cloak), but then again, the seventh floor always seemed to have lax late night patrolling. He leaned back, eyes wandering over the tapestry of the ever-stupid Barnabas the Barmy and those violent trolls opposite him.

_I _really_ need a place to play piano. I really _need_ a place to play piano. I really need a place to play _piano_. _

James found his train of thought cut off as a sharp object poked into the small of his back. He turned to discover it was a doorknob. A doorknob? The doorknob was a pretty brass color and the door it belonged to was dark and polished. Where had that come from? His curiosity piqued, James quickly turned the handle and stepped through the threshold.

The room was dark and lit by candles. From what he could see, the walls were made of dark, elegant wood and the floor was clean white carpeting, a complete rarity in Hogwarts. There was no furniture, just a huge monstrosity of a piano. It was dark and clean, with sharp lines, gentle slopes. The candles' light surrounded the piano in a heavenly glow and sheet music lay piled next to the plush piano bench.

James sat at the bench as if in a trance. He hadn't touched a piano in about five years, yet his fingers naturally flew over the pale keys, the scales that had been drilled into him flowing from his hands like the flames from a candle.

In the dark candlelight, he played with all the passion he had lacked as a child. He stumbled often, rusty from time without practice. As the night drew on, James went through the music stacked by the piano. Some pieces he recognized, most he sight read. He played until his fingers ached and his eyes drooped; yet he wasn't satisfied. There was only one composer, one song missing from the pile. The Mozart piece.

The room was obviously magical, and suited to fit the user's needs. James knew that if he wished for 'The Piece,' it would probably appear. But did he want it there? Did he want the tainted reminder of his mother's death right in front of him? Could he handle it?

James closed his tired eyes.

_I want 'The Piece.' Mozart excerpt, only about two pages long. The pages yellow and old, the notes strong and proud looking. The ink smudged…Her frail body, eyes watching me-_

He felt the pages in his palms, the paper thick. He blinked and drank the sight of it in, the music that had haunted him four long years. Each note his private burden to carry.

It looked so harmless in his palms.

He sat there, staring, for what seemed like hours and hours. He couldn't bring himself to touch the piano, to tap out the first note. The whole situation was so unnatural to James. He set the music on top of the pile and stood to stretch, acutely aware of diminished height of the candles. It was probably very, very late…or early.

The essay was unfinished, the Charms practice neglected. James sighed; he really should of thought of the consequences before he went gallivanting about the castle. No matter, he was pretty certain all of Remus's done-a-week-in-advance schoolwork resided in the absent boy's dresser drawer. It wasn't cheating or copying or whatever if Remus didn't know, James figured cheekily.

He slipped from the room, wondering if Sirius was out of his funk yet, if the Quidditch pitch was open that weekend, if he could bribe a third year to buy some Honeydukes' chocolate for him at the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, if Mrs. Norris was making rounds…

He was sure he'd return to the mysterious room soon.

"So, Moony…who this Friday? Are you thinking Alison from Ravenclaw or Marlene McKinnon?" Sirius Black lay lazily on his bed, arms behind his head.

Remus Lupin looked up from his extensive History of Magic notes (Remus seemed to be the only Hogwarts student who could stand Professor Binns' stupor-inducing voice…well, him and Lily Evans) and sat up straighter in his desk. "All I think is that at this rate, you won't be receiving any O.W.L.s at your house come August."

"Please, I don't need to study for O.W.L.s They are ages away-"

"Three weeks away!"

"Shut it, Moony. Anyway, I don't need to study. I'm gifted."

Peter snorted, as he finished up his Divination assignment.

"Hmm," Sirius's voice had become thoughtful. "Though, if I do fail my O.W.L.s, it might piss off my mother dearest. Oi, James!" Sirius threw his pillow at James, who was lying on the floor looking quite miserable. "What do you think?"

James sat up slowly. "About what? Your devil-may-care approach to studying or your broom closet schedule?" James talked dryly, without much emotion. James was emotionally spent, after asking out Lily Evans earlier that afternoon.

"No need to be depressed. It's not like Evans hasn't yelled at you before," Sirius bluntly replied. Remus looked like he was about to admonish Sirius for his lack of tact, but Peter cut in-

"Do any of you lot know about Jupiter's moons' patterns of orbit?" Seeing their blank stares, he sighed, "Guess I'm off to the library." He hurried from the room, noticing James's helpless look as he left.

The room fell into silence. Remus scribbled away at his notes, happily noticing in his cross-referencing that Professor Binns _had_ been wrong about the cause of the Goblin Revolution of 1715. Remus found particular pleasure in correcting professors. Sirius looked over the month's snogging- er, dating schedule, scribbling in Marlene for Friday. He could fit Alison in next week, during his free block. Sirius found particular pleasure in enjoying Hogwarts' female population. James sighed heavily and dramatically, staring at the ceiling from his position on the floor. One of the watermarks looked somewhat like Lily Evans' eye, winking at him. He could almost see that green eye winking, as she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder to smile coquettishly at him. James found particular pleasure in imagining Lily Evans liked him.

Thinking about Lily snapped him from his lazy daydream and reminded him of their fight earlier. Well, screw her! James sat back dejectedly. He thought rather wistfully about convincing Sirius to sneak down to the Three Broomsticks. He'd like to drown his sorrows in a stiff Firewhiskey, until he could barely remember his own name, let alone Lily Evans. But he couldn't risk another detention; Minnie had been threatening expulsion again.

Suddenly James's face brightened. He knew a quick trip to The Room of Requirement would grant him a temporary high, making the memory of Lily's angry face earlier that afternoon dissipate from his mind. He usually only played on Saturday mornings, when everyone slept late and his absence went unnoticed. But lately, with the stress of Quidditch and school, he had been visiting his private oasis more often.

James stood quickly, causing his friends to look up. "I'm, I'm going on a walk." Remus cocked a single eyebrow and Sirius smiled, indulging James in his poor lie.

The second he was out the door, Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance.

"He's a bad liar," Remus said.

"I know," Sirius said slowly, his tone surprisingly earnest. "He's been sneaking off a lot lately, stressed about everything…I'm worried about him."

"Well, there's nothing we can do, I guess."

"Moony, are you kidding me? What sort of pals would we be if we didn't…check up on our dear Jamsie every once in a while?"

"So, you're suggesting we spy on him?"

"Precisely! He's depressed and might do something stupid, you've checked over those bloody notes at least twelve times already, and I'm bored. There's nothing to do," Sirius whined like a dog.

"And no one to snog," Remus finished his thought and sighed. "Alright, let's go invade James's privacy."

It was pretty easy to follow James out of the common room and up to the seventh floor. They had one close call, when Sirius stepped on Remus's foot, which caused Remus to 'yelp like a deranged little girl,' which caused James to turn suddenly, almost catching them.

The boys watched from around a corner with anticipation as James stopped across from the tapestry depicting a ballet bloke being clubbed mercilessly by trolls. James closed his eyes, concentrating, and began to pace before the blank expanse of wall. Sirius was about to comment (or complain) about friends with odd habits, but suddenly a dark door appeared in the wall without warning.

James slipped through the door easily, like a tall, black-haired shadow, his relief in reaching the mysterious door shown in the relaxed set of his shoulders. Remus and Sirius hurried after him, pausing only a moment before bursting through the doorway like the elusive spies they were.

James had just started on the relatively modern piece the room had left him (which he had been perfecting recently), when his two best friends clamored into his private sanctuary. Remus looked slightly surprised and amused, but Sirius looked practically dumbstruck.

"_This_ is what you've been doing?" Sirius's eyes were huge. "Piano?" He spoke no more but it was obvious that Sirius thought James had either been falling back on women or drinks when times got rough. After all, that was all _Sirius_ had to fall back on. And he liked it. It was steady, solid. And seeing that his best friend, his brother, had a strange secret…it was unnerving, unsettling.

"Well, yeah," James said, embarrassed. "I've been playing since I was little. It's kinda…cathartic. It makes me forget about…stuff. It's like an escape." James's ears were turning slightly red, and Remus, Oh-perceptive-Remus, knew it was time to defuse the situation.

"James," Remus said gently, "why don't you play something for us?" Remus knew that Sirius would be more accepting of James's hobby if he could see it in progress. Sirius was a less-talk-more-action kind of guy.

James nodded once before sitting abruptly at the piano. He thumbed through the stack of sheet music before picking out a long, well-worn piece. He wiggled his fingers above the keys before his hands fell into the piano and the chords began to emerge.

The piece was complex, with trills and strange harmonies. It started dark, somewhat minor, evoking desperation. It was loud and desperate and sad. Then, suddenly, it became very quiet. A very soft, haunting melody cut through the room. It was more…hopeful. The song ended hopeful and bittersweet, very different from its dark beginning. The whole song was like James's ongoing struggle with Lily. There was the initial dark depression after James was rejected, but the ending was like James's optimism and perseverance. The piece was just so very…James.

Sirius's eyes had cleared and he was smiling slightly. "That was really impressive mate. Did you hear that, Moony? Our little bugger's talented."

James grinned, buffered by Sirius's approval. "Thank you. I wrote it."

"Look, I'm sorry about being a wanker. You know, you were right about music being sort of healing," Sirius spoke softly, and the boys could tell they were on the brink of a rare moment. "My mum…she was always bloody deranged, but she did do one good thing, I guess. When I was little, she made me play violin. I thought I would hate it. Violin, it's for poofs, I think that's what I said. But then I put the bow to the strings…and out came the most awful screeching I'd ever heard." Sirius smiled, remembering. "It was terrible, scared Kreacher out of his wits. And then I got better and it was fun…it drowned out the cursing and the screaming and the general shit that is my household. But, then I went to school and forgot…how wonderful it is." Sirius looked up, his chin jutting as if daring them to tease, but his eyes searching, fragile.

Again, it was up to Remus to cut through the tension. "Well, when I went to grade school, I played the flute," he said openly.

"Blimey, Moony. The flute? That's the least manly instrument ever. Piano and violin…they're both sort of brooding and sexy, you know?" Sirius started.

"But the flute? Only a sissy plays the flute," James smirked deeply.

"Well, _I_ liked it," Remus said defensively. "God, I wish I could play it again."

"You can if you want. This room is magical. You wish, it appears. You just have to concentrate. And no food, I've already tried that," James said, seeing Sirius's hungry look. Sirius faux-pouted, but in a few seconds both he and Remus closed their eyes, concentrating. Moments later, a violin, flute and two music stands sat beside the piano.

James suggested a piece and they all began to play. Sirius obviously hadn't played in a while, for he often caused squeaks to emanate from the poor violin. Still, he was good at following the music, and after he got the hang of it, his tone was quite beautiful. Remus, however, was a terrible flute player. When he did coax a noise out of the instrument, his notes were screechy and slightly flat. But, Remus could keep the beat well and he conducted them, counted them in. But really the only thing that kept the song sounding decent was James. James played the piano like he did most everything, confidently with passion and skill. He saw the score and embellished on it, adding notes that didn't exist. He had the makings of a skilled composer.

That evening, well past midnight, the three Marauders stumbled their way back to the common room. They were tired, but very pleased and content. Music was cathartic, as James had said. For James, it was adding and embellishing and getting out his feelings. For Sirius, it was a distraction of his family life, a light in the darkness. For Remus, it was something he was bad at, something that required passion _and_ skill, not just book smarts, which intrigued him. Music was an outlet that brought them together. It was for them alone.

They never spoke of their trips to the Room of Requirement. Remus came when asked, and ended up not coming often. Sirius came when he wanted to, and at odd hours of the night. James came steadily every weekend.

The times they came all together were the best. In their music, in that cacophony of sound, there was a pure visceral joy to be alive.

In that cold, candlelight room, at odd hours of the night, the Marauders were simply glad to be alive.

January 30th, 1978, was the coldest day Hogwarts had seen in about half a century. Due to the freezing temperatures, classes for all years had been canceled for the day. Most students had wisely stayed in bed, bundled under down comforters, catching up on sleep or reading.

Lily Evans and James Potter weren't most students.

Lily was curled on the armchair closest to the roaring fire in Gryffindor common room. She had been staring unfocusedly into the flames, but as James Potter climbed out of his dormitory and down the stairs, her head whipped up.

"Hey, James," she said with a soft smile, her eyes tired. In recent weeks, Evans and Potter had declared a truce. They no longer yelled in the hallways, the classrooms, and the common room. They politely patrolled with each other every Saturday night. Lily hadn't called James 'an arrogant self-absorbed wanker with absolutely no respect for his teachers or fellow students' in about three months. James hadn't asked Lily out since the beginning of term. Hogwarts watched them warily…were the Head Boy and Girl…friends?

"Cheers, Lily," James spoke. "Happy birthday."

"Oh, thanks. It's so cold outside and what with no class- I guess I just thought everyone forgot it."

"Please, it's not every day the famed Lily Evans comes of age! We must celebrate."

"Ha, ha," Lily said dryly, her green eyes beginning to sparkle.

"Now, where is your birthday loot?" James knew as soon as her face fell that he had asked the wrong question.

"No owls can fly through the storm and you know the Hogsmeade trip was canceled, and my stupid procrastinator friends didn't buy anything in advance. They're all sleeping now, so I sang Happy Birthday to myself and came down here." She was trying too hard to be cheerful and it broke his heart.

"Lily, honestly-"

"Look it's fine. I'm of age now; I shouldn't expect a bloody parade on the day of my birth! It's not like it matters anyway." But it obviously did matter, as she had began to cry. James tentatively walked toward her seat and sat on the armrest.

"Of course it's important to you," he started.

"Well, yes," she said in a small voice. "I didn't want a big party or anything, but it would be nice to have something."

James stood up firmly and held out his hands to help her up. "Go get your coat Lily Evans," he said ignoring her perplexed expression. "It's time for your birthday present."

Five minutes later, Lily and James were standing in front of a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor of the castle. Lily watched curiously as James screwed up his face in concentration, but said nothing. It was too cold to question, to cold to speak at all. As she was shivering, a door emerged from the wall. It was a dark wood, and Lily eagerly reached for the brass doorknob, ready to escape the drafty halls.

They rushed into the room in one quick moment, and were instantly embraced by the warmth. The Room of Requirement had outdone itself, James thought.

It was comfortably warm, much warmer than the rest of the castle. As always, the piano lay in the room, illuminated by the many candles. Next to the piano, a short side table had appeared. James's sheet music, two jugs of hot chocolate, and a plate of gooey, fresh-from-the-oven cookies rested on the table. Set up to have full view of the piano, a comfy couch sat, two blankets draped on its arms.

"I was going to ask about the room, but I'm too curious," Lily started, hanging up her coat to settle down on the couch. "You play the piano?"

"Ever since I was seven. My mum made me take lessons."

"Oh, I see. What's your mum like?"

"She…died. Ten years ago today." James sat at the piano bench easily, calmly but his eyes remained eerily focused ahead. He was so focused, waiting for her surprised 'I'm so sorry,' he didn't notice her creep up behind him until her slender arms reached around him and embraced him.

James couldn't believe it.

Lily Evans was hugging him.

He turned into her hug and pulled her to him. He hesitated, wondering if he'd gone too far, before sighing and resting his head in her glorious red hair.

James could honestly say this was probably the best hug he had ever received.

He hated when people heard about his mother's death and mumbled, 'She's gone to a better place' or stammered out an 'I'm sorry for your loss.' When grief was concerned, words were like flies that kept buzzing around a wound, irritating it. When flashes of sorrow overcame James, he needed physical contact. He needed the warmth, the steady heartbeat. He needed Lily Evans embracing him, not speaking as he softly wept into her hair. _Damn_, he thought,_ ten years later and it still hurts like hell._

Minutes went by and James pulled from the embrace. "Alright birthday girl, pick your present." He pointed to the pile of music and as she turned away he adjusted his glasses, rubbed at his eyes.

Lily flipped through the stack, but nothing stuck out to her. But when she reached the end of the pile she saw a piece that looked vaguely familiar…

"Here, this one," she held out the pages to him. James flipped over the yellowed pages and smiled slightly. The Mozart piece lay in his palms once again. He regarded it as an old friend now and he realized with surprise he was finally ready to play it, ten years later.

Lily sank into the couch, as James sat at the piano bench. She watched him as he set the music in front of himself, wiggled his fingers, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looked awfully cute, Lily decided. As if hearing her thought, James looked over at Lily and winked. She blushed as he lowered his hands to the keys and the music began.

He played with great skill and dexterity. The harmonies, the key changes, each dynamic mark flowed from the piano like a patronus emerging from a wizard's wand. He put all his passion, all his energy into every note.

He played for his dear, deceased mother and the very alive girl sitting with him, the girl he loved. He played for the Marauders, his Marauders. He played for all those affected by the war that seemed to be brewing. He played for himself.

The deep, rich music filled the small room and spread through Hogwarts. On that cold, January day, music seeped through empty classrooms, the barren Great Hall, the dormitories of sleeping children. It spread up to the Charms classroom, where Peeves set down his items of defacing and listened, more somber than he had ever been seen. It could be heard in the depths of the dungeons, where the ghosts danced a long-forgotten waltz. In a particular Slytherin dorm, Severus Snape cocked his ear at the music, thumbing a birthday letter to his one friend and love, a letter he would never deliver. And up in Dumbledore's office, the old man stroked Fawkes and wondered, _Is there really a greater magic than music?_

The final note seemed to last forever, reverberating long after James lifted his fingers from those black and white keys. James ignored Lily's awestruck silence and instead lifted his eyes heavenward.

_I've done it Mother, I've played our song._

**Author's Note:**

**This idea has been a bug in my brain for a while. I already think James Potter is utterly squee-worthy, just add a piano and I melt… **

**Yes, I do know it was a bit of a stretch to say three of the Marauders played musical instruments. My personal excuse is that band geeks are adorable and I'm a music nerd and I needed to add it in for my imagination. My official excuse is that both James and Sirius were pureblood and received a well-rounded aristocratic education. Remus was a half-blood, and I'm betting he went to a Muggle primary school and participated heavily in school spirit stuff, like clubs and student council and ****band****. No Peter, sorry. **

**I put a lot of work into this and it is rather looooong (well, for me). So, please please review. Every review gives me this utterly happy feeling. I literally do a happy dance and sing and act spastically happy. And don't you want a spaz moment in your honor? **

**Thanks!**

**~Classy**


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